Alas, Poor Villain
by Cececat
Summary: The story of a Mad Scientist who lived like a Glam Rock Star. Always alone and detached from the world, though technically surrounded by lovers and fans. His life had been spent being really horrible to everyone but getting away with it because of his charm and popularity. Now he begs for his groupies, fans, and even haters to try to really understand him. (Please Read & Review!)


**Disclaimer: I don't own _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_**

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 **A/N: I say I will write if someone reviews. Then this finally happens - see my Halloween story - I don't write. How silly of me. I am so very alone, though not isolated. I see people everyday yet cannot connect well to I can think of little else I shall write about that sort of loneliness. All my other stories are so forced these days.**

 **I feel like the captain in the framing story of Mary Shelley's greatest work. And I react to this feeling of intellectual isolation by complaining (as that captain did. The main character of this story takes out this feeling on other characters and becomes the really terrible person we all know and love. He - Frank - is about as sympathetic as the narrator of _Lolita_ yet fans adore him because of his charm and his (Tim Curry's) looks. **

**The only _Rocky Horror_ character I could think of who might feel like I currently do was, weirdly, Frank. I fear him (perhaps even hate him) due to who he is in my 'Freudian interpretation' of _Rocky Horror._ Though I'll put those feelings aside and attempt for the first time to write a story seriously involving him. **

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I, the famous Doctor Frank N. Furter, was always alone. It's sort of strange, being like that. All the time I am surrounded by lovers or groupies or servants... yet I am so very alone. Pity me, reader! On good days the world knows me as the handsome trickster of a man, while on bad day's I'm called a monster. I will admit that the latter is a more accurate description. My childhood offers excuses, though my adult life shouldn't be excused according to a number of respected persons. Most of the wretched things I did were done without guilt.

When you are alone as I am you mute everything. Suddenly you hardly care about what others think or feel. I have spent so many years alone in one way or another that I just cannot feel. It's a severe sort of detachment that makes. Perhaps, if given a different childhood, I would never have become the man I became. I may've been nicer to people if it weren't for my isolation. If you had been told over and over by your nurses from the very moment of your birth that the noble blood pulsing through your pretty blue veins made you BETTER than the other children... you would've turned out funny too. Please pity me and forgive me, wretched world. I didn't mean anything by my so-called crimes.

You loved me because I am a star of sorts and people love stars. When a star begins to fade - as I somehow did, near the age of twenty - the nasty things they do are no longer accepted. As I became less famous at home my habits became vices. Stars can get away with. I needed the spotlight - it's an addiction, like drugs I would take when bored enough - so I risked everything to go on a mission to Earth. I sacrificed so much to gain back that fame, that acclaim. Do you understand now? Once I tasted that delightful feeling of being in the spotlight I needed it. Like withdrawal. Groupies and fans replace friends. In the end you're truly alone. Yet people who love you from afar are good enough.

Morally speaking some might call me a rapist. I'm not. Never did I really force myself on someone - far too messy - even in my dark, Alex-like teenaged years. The word I like to use is ' _seduce'_. That means persuading and talking people into things, or being so damned charming they lose all sense of reasons. That's their fault if they give in. They enjoy it. I'm the least violent person you'll meet, I swear, and I'm a wonderful lover if I do say so myself.

Do not blame me for my failures... fans, groupies, lovers, and so on.

Perhaps I should explain in greater detail. Starting with my spoiled, decadent childhood...

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I am the son of a noblewoman named Lady Stardust and her less-noble (but very rich) husband Mal McDowell. In truth my name is Franken Stardust-McDowell, but such a name is repulsive so I became the more attractive Frank N. Furter at first chance. Some of my early lovers nicknamed me 'Frank DeLarge' though I find that too crude. 'Frank N. Furter' sounds mildly naughty while having no obvious meaning and is more 'organized' than even my birth name.

Anyway, Lady Stardust didn't like babies very much so she left me in the care of a nurse. The nurse was a young woman named Lily who, according to rumor, used to work as a prostitute in the city. Scandal isn't such a bad thing for a wealthy, family like mine so it is thought that hiring such a girl too look after me was deliberate. All press is good press in the eyes of the Stardust family. When I was five a drag queen called Lola became my nanny. This was a very conservsative choice by the standards of my dark, twisted, overly-sexual home. Lola's love of fashion became a part of me. Too much money was spent on fine clothes for me to wear. Perhaps I should feel guilty.

Oh! You should've seen the first man's dress they found for me when I was about 8. It's the loveliest thing you'll ever see. There were lots of glittering gems (no doubt false, yet still ) around the neckline and a dark red velvet. In those days the unisex hairstyle was this sort of shoulder length cut, slightly curled. To the day of my untimely death I still wore my hair like that. It always looked very good on me - like everything I wear, as you've surely noticed.

My early years were oddly innocent. I didn't have any real opportunities to see other children my age. Because of this I never learned to cooperate with other people. Being told that I'm better than others and being able to do whatever I want most of the time made me a bit out of touch. Lola could talk some sense into me, but not always. And she left my life, eventually, like everyone. If only I'd been a bit older when my mother fired her. I hate when things or people I like go away without my permission. It makes me ever so angry. One thing I hate more than anything else is not being in control. Haven't you been in a strange situation in which someone who isn't you is calling the shots? It's horrid, isn't it? Or are you - my fans, my darlings - not like that? I shall never know, for I am not close enough to understand.

Things really got interesting when I left the grand, decadent Stardust Manor at age 14 and went to _school_. Before that there were not specific incidents that helped shape my character.

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